


release the doves, surrender love

by wanderlustnostalgia



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Youngblood Chronicles, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Ficlet, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Sorry, M/M, Post The Youngblood Chronicles, poor pete, this made me emo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-12-01 00:35:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11474901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderlustnostalgia/pseuds/wanderlustnostalgia
Summary: The tragedy of it all is that Pete’s convinced he’s the monster.





	release the doves, surrender love

**Author's Note:**

> You ever see that video that MAX did where Pete's running around freaking out about the girls from the cult chasing them down and "one of them put a fucking hook on my best friend's hand"? My immediate reaction whenever I see it is "Pete, you're the one who put the hook on his hand, you dork", mainly because I saw someone on Tumblr do a breakdown of how Pete putting the hook on Patrick's hand was a really stupid idea that ended up doing more harm than good.
> 
> Anyway, this is based on that. Yay, more angst \^w^/

The tragedy of it all is that Pete’s convinced he’s the monster.

Every time he looks at the hook on Patrick’s hand, and then the piss-poor replacement they gave him when he came back (because even Elton freakin’ John, for all his brilliance, can’t make quality prosthetics, apparently), all he can think of is the sickening noise the hook made when it fused with his skin, the agonized scream that ripped its way from Patrick’s exhausted lungs, the charred, burnt flesh the police found when they took it off.

Sometimes Patrick will wake up in the middle of the night to hear Pete sobbing, and he’ll think it’s because he’s watching Joe get strangled or Andy get his throat slit again, only to find out no, it’s Pete reliving the fucking hook— _the fucking_ _hook_.

Patrick resents Pete in those moments—not for all the pain he caused, but for the fact that he feels so damn _guilty_ when _Patrick’s_ the real monster.

After all:  Patrick’s the one with a body count that includes two of his best friends.  Patrick’s the one who fell prey to their conditioning, couldn’t hold out, was too damn weak to fight it off.   Patrick’s the one, in the end, who lost control.  No matter how hard they try to convince him otherwise—it could’ve been any of them, could’ve been any one of them—he won’t hear it.  It wasn’t any of them.  It was him.

But he never has the heart to yell at Pete, not at two in the morning when his own nightmares are still fresh and raw and lingering, bitter afterimages lingering in his mind and the metallic taste of blood on his tongue, with Pete staring up at him teary-eyed and pawing at Patrick, movements desperate and almost animalistic as he assures himself that _yes,_ that’s Patrick lying next to him, alive and breathing and not under Courtney’s spell, not anymore.

And Patrick, because he’s still Patrick even if he’s been beaten and shattered and the fragments of who he once was don’t fit quite like they used to, Patrick doesn’t say anything, just takes Pete’s head in his lap and cards gentle, callused fingers through his hair and presses his lips to the top of his head and sings, quietly (but not one of their songs, never one of their songs—the memories are still too sharp, too crystal-clear, high-definition surround sound like the TVs in Pete’s old house).

And inevitably Pete, still sniffling, will look up at Patrick, but the first thing he sees won’t be Patrick’s shining eyes, Patrick’s tousled hair, but Patrick’s hand.  Patrick’s fucking plastic hand that doesn’t stay on like it should and is almost always slightly askew, but is still somehow better than _the fucking hook_ that Pete literally charmed (and then _killed_ ) off a girl because he wasn’t thinking about how it could hurt Patrick, wasn’t thinking about how it could do more harm than good, wasn’t thinking about anything other than getting out.

“I never meant to hurt you,” he chokes out, face wet against Patrick’s shirt, “I’m so sorry, Rick, I never wanted to hurt you, please believe me,” as he snuggles in closer to Patrick and buries himself, inhales deep.

And Patrick, wide awake, heart still racing, can’t shake the idea that there is so much more to that statement than just the hook.  An apology for everything.  For so much, before, and now, and after, all densely packed in the span of six little words.  Patrick’s high school English teacher would be proud.

“I could’ve saved you,” Pete whispers, “I could’ve, I should’ve, oh God, ‘Trick—”

“Shh.”  Patrick traces Pete’s jawline with a finger, feels the tears pressing at the back of his eyes, fights the lump in the back of his throat.  “It’s okay.  It’s gonna be okay.  We’re here now.  We’re safe.”

His chest tightens at the last two words, but Pete nods against him and clings tighter, fist clenched around the fabric of Patrick’s shirt.

Courtney’s gone.  Xibalba is contained, for now.  It’s been months since Patrick had an episode, therapy and the magic of Elton John having mostly deconditioned him and all copies of the cult’s music destroyed, gone.

The guilt remains, though.  And Patrick feels it, weighting down his shoulders and knotting up his stomach as he reminds himself that the only reason Pete’s here, breathing, drifting off in his lap is through divine intervention, and not because Patrick spared him.

He’s not sure he’ll be able to accept it, not fully.  Joe and Pete both forgave him all too easily, no matter what Andy tries to tell him.

But they’re here now.  They’re alive.  And they’re together.

In the end, Patrick thinks, eyes slipping closed as he finally surrenders, that’s really all they can ask for.


End file.
